


Chaldea Lunch Time

by MrUndisclosed



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: In which the knights of the round table are a bit cliquey, Laughter, Mentions of alcohol and flagrant murder, but nothing that'd make Mash sad, well Tristan is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 13:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19358314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrUndisclosed/pseuds/MrUndisclosed
Summary: A multi-part series featuring different assortments of characters and the shenanigans that occur at lunch time in the base of humanity's last line of defense. Expect yelling, swearing, knights behaving badlyChap 1- The Knights of You Can't Sit with Us





	Chaldea Lunch Time

**Author's Note:**

> There may be more to this series. There may not be. But it wouldn't go away until I wrote it. Ya know?

\--Humanity’s Last Hope Research base CHALDEA  
-Time: Lunch Time. Location: Mess Hall

“I’m going to have to say something.” Sir Tristan spoke up, his voice brimming with quiet intensity. “It’s simply a slap in the face, that’s what this is.” He was whispering so that his voice would not carry around the open space.

“It, legitimately, doesn’t matter.” Replied Mordred, traitor knight and current eater of French-Fries. “This is the pettiest shit, Tristan.”

“I shan’t have my honour impugned by you,” Tristan spat, “this is a matter in which you lack both the tact and decorum to understand the issues at hand.”

“I swear if Master hadn’t put that sign up I would kill you.” Mordred said indicating the sign that read in big block letters; “NO MURDER IN THE MESS HALL. IT’S THE MESS HALL NOT MAKE A MESS HALL!”

“That sign has saved so many lives.” Sir Lancelot, knight of the Lake, said as he had his yogurt cup. “Mordred is right, Tristan this is petty even by your impressively petty standards.”

“Oh cause Agravain isn’t here suddenly I’m the guy we all shit on.” Tristan snapped looking at the group in horror.

“None of us shit on Agravain, he was like the smartest one of us.” Mordred said. 

“He had the braincell most of us had to share.” Lancelot went on agreeing with Mordred. 

“I think that this is just sort of getting out of hand,” Bedievere broached the subject, “Tristan I don’t think this is being done out of malice but it’s not appropriate to assign malice to the act.” He went on, taking two of Mordred’s fries. Mordred was frozen solid with rage, they knew that salad eater would do this. 

“What else is but a slap in the face?” Tristan asked. “We are the knights of the round table and he is not present at this table.” Tristan said indicating the cousin of Arthur, the second man to sit at the table, Sir Gawain at another lunch table with Siegfried. 

“By that logic why isn’t Mash sitting with us?” Bedievere asked leaning away from the slowly building mana-burst building off Mordred.

“Oh come on Mash doesn’t co….” Tristan felt Lancelot’s eyes on him.

“Go on.” Lancelot said, crushing the yogurt cup. “Finish that sentence.” 

“Remember the sign.” Bedivere said to Lancelot, laying a hand on his shoulder and rubbing off some yogurt. “Remember the sign.”

“You’re lucky the other me isn’t here. He can’t fucking read because he’s so fucking angry.” Lancelot snapped at Tristan.

“Look I’m saying Gawain belongs here with the other round table knights. It’s only correct.” Tristan snapped again.

“It’s Mean Girls highschool garbage is what it is.” Mordred said drawing a look from the assembled knights of old. “What? It’s not my fault I like Chaldea Movie Knight on Rom-Com Monday.” 

The group nodded, that was not in fact their fault. Movies were vastly superior to a lot of plays of old.

“Regardless what do they have in common?” 

“Both huge.” Lancelot said.

“Lots of health.” Bedievere put in.

“Both kinda fucked up their best friends lives forever.” Mordred supplied and again got a look. “Oh bite me, it’s true.” Mordred crossed their arms over their chest. “You do one betrayl and everyone acts like it’s the end of the world.”

“Well…..” Lancelot started as Tristan stood up. “What are you doing?”

“Going to find out WHAT makes him such better company.” Tristan flared out his cape and walked across the lunch hall, murder in his strut. 

“God I hate him.” Mordred said. 

“Same.” Merlin had appeared and was eating Tristan’s lunch. “What a dick.” He said with his mouth full. 

Tristan edged closer to the two titanic swordsmen who laughed slapping and rocking the table with their blows. 

“Oh no, oh god.” Siegfried shook his head. “Really?”

“Yeah it was boring. War and all that and so I said to Arthur, I said,” Gawain sat up trying to look proper. “Cousin, across yonder valley are comely maidens and dashing young men held against their will by five giant cyclops. We should ride out from this dull field of war and into the annals of heroism.” He thumped his chest plate. 

“She bought that?” Siegfried asked of Gawain.

“Oh she super bought it.” Gawain replied deflating from his proper posture to a loutish sprawl on the table. “I can't help it. All the politics and small wars, I skipped it. I went around slapping dragons and throwing giants off mountains and ohhh….” Gawain shook his head, fair hair shining like the sun itself. “I was so bad at being a knight.” He pressed his face into the table. “I was so bad at it.”

“So good at being a hero.” Siegfried said slapping him on the back. “Look on the bright side. At least you didn’t have a giant glowing weak spot on your back nobody was nice enough to mention.” 

Gawain snorted and Siegfried hacked trying not to laugh.

“I mean I can’t see it. I’ve got all these glowing mana-circuits and nobody thought to tell me.” He wheezed. “Nobody thought to say; Siegfried, noble hero, mighty slayer of beasts, you have a big LEAF shape on your back. I’m just saying a heads up would have been nice.”

“I mean, you’d put on a proper shirt at least right?”

Siegfried nodded. “You get it. You get it.”

“Trust me I get it. You know how often I get,” he puts on a feeble voice, '' Sir Gawain, I Sir Tristan, feeble of limb and dyed of hair need you to go ahead of me. With your TOTAL invincibility and rock hard abs that get everybody wild.” He fawned pretending to flip his hair over his shoulder.

Tristan was sure….he didn’t do that.

“But Sir Tristan, smallest of the knights, weaker than even the child Gareth in physical mass.” He hacks and Siegfried slams his fist on the table trying not to choke on his food. “Tis night time, my powers are gone. I have not my numeral invincibility.” Gawain turns his head. “At which point Tristan is thirty feet in the distance strumming his bloody bow while I am rushed by an army of Kobolds….or worse….Scots.” 

“Aren’t you Scottish?” Siegfried asked and Gawain shook his head. 

“Yes. But I’m not a Scot. I’m Scottish.” Gawain supplied and Siegfried nodded slowly.

“Sorry. I don’t get it.”

“You said it!” Gawain snapped and the two began chugging from tall glasses with foamy heads. How they’d snuck that into the mess hall was anyone's guess. 

“Barbarians with swords….” Tristan muttered sidling away from them.


End file.
